Lovesick
by Meg F
Summary: Jean's not well. Set after 'Damsel in Distress', though you don't need to read that one first.


Lovesick  
  
"I am never, ever, eating anything from that place again," Jean groaned, as she sat back against the bathtub. She was sweat-soaked, hair stuck to her face. "No, hang on - I'm never *eating* again. Period."  
  
"Here, let me," Scott motioned towards her forehead with a wet cloth, eyes crinkled in loving amusement. He carefully didn't tell her how cute she looked when she was ill; especially in the tattered Daffy Duck robe he'd given her three years ago. She'd made it very clear that she wasn't interested in endearments around 4:00, when the third bout of vomiting had hit.   
  
She nodded, giving permission, and he wiped her face. She closed her eyes. "Mm, that's good."  
  
Noting that the cloth was no longer cool, Scott stood. "I'll wet it again." Something scratched at the other side of the bathroom door. He grinned, then kissed Jean lightly on the top of the head. "As soon as I take care of this."  
  
He opened the door and Nevoso bounded inside, leaping into his arms. She licked his face, tail wagging enthusiastically. "I'm happy to see you, too," he told her seriously.   
  
". . . but Daddy has to take you to stay with Uncle Hank for the morning, Nevoso," Jean finished. "Mommy isn't feeling very well."  
  
"I don't want to be 'Daddy' to a dog," Scott protested. "Isn't that kind of sickening?"  
  
"Scott," Jean murmured, "I love you, but please get her out of here before *I'm* sickening again. It's hard enough to clean myself up without having to worry about her, too."  
  
"All right," Scott walked out of the bathroom, clutching the struggling Nevoso. "Take care. I'll be back soon."  
  
Jean nodded in response and bent over the toilet bowl again. He closed the door, giving her some privacy.  
  
Scott put Nevoso on the floor and grabbed her lead, fixing it to her collar. "Come on," he said, setting off. She bounded ahead of him. He gave her more slack on the lead. "Heel," he instructed. She ran back to his side, sniffed his feet, then raced joyously ahead again. He grinned. "I'd better take you outside, first, I think."  
  
He took her to the oak tree near the front courtyard. It was her favourite. After she did her business while he shivered in the cold morning air, he half-led, half-carried her back inside to Hank's room.   
  
Hank opened the door in his boxer shorts. "Scott!" he said, surprised. He ran his hand through his blue hair. "And Nevoso. I'm pleased to see you both. Come in, come in!"  
  
"I can't stay," Scott said regretfully. "Jean's sick. She had bad curry last night. Could you look after Nevoso for me, please? Just for a few hours."  
  
Hank took the lead from Scott's hand. "Of course." Nevoso sniffed his feet enquiringly, then looked up at Scott.   
  
Scott bent down next to her. "You'll be fine. I'll -" She bounded into Hank's room, forcing Hank to let go of the lead. "I guess she *will* be fine," Scott laughed, standing up.   
  
"But Jean's not," Hank said. "What's wrong with her? She's been sick more than once in the past month."  
  
"It hasn't gone on that long," Scott countered instinctively. Then he thought about it. He crossed his arms over his chest, getting worried. "Actually, you're right. It's been a couple of weeks. She never really recovered from that bad seafood at Dave's. That was horrible. We were both sick for days."  
  
"Perhaps you should ask her to see me," Hank suggested. Scott nodded slowly. He thanked the furry man and headed back to his rooms.  
  
He pushed the door open gently, mindful of the effects of noise on delicate stomachs. Jean was sitting on the bed, looking peculiar. She had a hand placed on her midriff. "Jean?" he asked cautiously. "Are you all right?"  
  
"Scott," she breathed, turning to look at him with an expression of bemused awe. "You have to feel this."  
  
"Hank wants you to get checked out, Jean," Scott told her gently. He walked towards her and sat carefully beside her. "You don't look well."  
  
"I found out what's wrong, Scott," she said, smiling slowly. "Or what's *right*. I heard our baby."  
  
He spun so fast he nearly fell off the bed. "Our *what*?!"  
  
"Our baby, Scott. I had no idea."  
  
Scott grinned. "Are you sure? How do you know?" His cheeks ached, but he didn't want to stop grinning.  
  
"I felt his mind, Scott. He's. . . awake. He's strongly telepathic, though of course he doesn't have much to say just yet." She laughed shakily. "It's amazing, Scott."  
  
"How do - when did you - how far along are you?" Scott managed finally.  
  
"About six weeks, I think. I didn't know. My period is so inconsistent. You have to feel it."  
  
She took his hand and placed it on her stomach. He closed his eyes. He inhaled sharply when Jean made the connection for him, and he felt the tiny presence inside her womb. The other mind was full of soft shapes, basic emotions, needs, blurring colours, and. . . now that they were in contact. . . comfort.   
  
His baby felt comfort. His baby was soothed by his presence.   
  
He opened his eyes, wiping tears from his face unashamedly. "I felt him, Jean! I felt our baby!" She fell into his arms, laughing and crying.   
  
"I'm gonna be a dad," he said wonderingly, when the first shock had subsided.   
  
She nodded, smiling. "We have to tell everyone!"  



End file.
